Unexpected Hero: An age gap forbidden romance, page 11
“I know, but in this case, it’s true. I’m sorry, but I think he’s the forbidden fruit, and you’re going to get kicked out of the Garden of Eden if you take a bite.”
Stella and I were raised by Evangelical Christians, and we’ve bonded about our experiences on many occasions. Of course, there’s the typical shit that many other religions stand against, like murder, lying, extra-marital affairs, and so forth. Obviously, I’m good with those beliefs and live my life accordingly.
But it was the other beliefs they forced down our throats that drove me away once I was old enough to think for myself.
No sex outside the bonds of marriage.
No lustful thoughts.
No denying your husband. He is the head of the household.
No using birth control. It’s for whores, and God commanded us to multiply and replenish the earth.
No masturbating. It’s a perversion of the sacred act of making love.
Marriage is between a man and a woman only. Anything else is an abomination.
No alcohol. It’s the demon’s drink.
No tattoos or piercings. They’re decorations of the devil.
In other words, how dare you be a woman or an individual?
Ironically, Mama was fine lying to me my entire life, and apparently, it was a-okay to get a divorce, even though those are sins too. She told the church that Papa had become a non-believer who’d abandoned her, leaving her alone in her faith. It was the loophole she needed to save face and stay in good grace with the other zealots.
Papa agreed because he wanted her gone at that point. What started as him indulging her in her religious beliefs, even though he didn’t necessarily agree, turned into an ongoing nightmare that he and I both suffered through.
My eyes search the dingy navy blue carpet, cream-colored-ish walls, and stained ceiling.
This place is no Eden.
“Stella, listen. Let me go on this date and get the info before I decide. A job is a job is a job.”
“First of all, you don’t need my permission to do anything, including this. Second, are you hurting for money? I can send you —”
Now it’s my turn to interrupt. “No, no, hell no. No ma’am. I ain’t taking handouts from you. I’ll be fine.”
She huffs. “Whatever. But don’t take the first job that comes along just to avoid asking me or your grandmama-mama for help. Fuck your pride. If you need money, ask me. You hearin’ me, ma’am?”
“I got you.” I nod a few times, ready to announce my decision. “So I’m going tonight. I owe it to myself to at least get the details. But I won’t decide until I talk to you.”
“Please be careful. Sometimes, you’re so easily manipulated.”
“Excuse me. That was your outside voice.”
My offended retort isn’t an act. That freaking hurts.
“I’m sorry. I just worry about you. This isn’t the Lettie I know. I want you to be true to yourself.”
No longer able to hold back, I unload all my shit on her like a dump truck at the landfill up on Porter Road.
“Well, maybe I’m not supposed to be me anymore. I don’t even know who I am. Did you forget my entire world crumbled this year? My parents lied to me for my entire life. My birth parents are dead, and I’ll never know them. My boyfriend tried to assault me because I wouldn’t give him sex. The only father I’ve known died after a drawn-out battle with cancer right before my eyes. And the icing on the cake was quitting college because I couldn’t cut it.”
When I pause for a shaky breath, she quietly consoles me. “Don’t say it like that. You quit because taking care of your father put too much on your plate, not because you couldn’t cut it. You made a brave choice to prioritize him in his final months.” She pauses and gives her head a shake. “You’ll find your way back if a degree is in your path. Stop beating yourself up for that, or so help me, I’m coming down there to put you over my knee.”
The image she paints makes me think of James. The barest hint of happiness tries to bloom inside me. I might not know much about BDSM, but I know spanking is involved.
“Stella, I know you think I’m insane for up and movin’ to a town I only visited once. And now you think I’m certifiable to entertain James’s BDSM-related proposition considering my limited experience and that I just met him. And maybe I am crazy. But what if fate led me here for a reason? I’ll never know what path to take if I’m afraid to go for a stroll.”
Stella’s silent for a bit, likely thinking of how she’s going to burst my bubble. Probably removing her nose ring to jab my hope balloon with the pointy tip.
“I get it. And no, you’re not crazy. You’re brave.”
She didn’t pop it.
Tears pool in my eyes. “Thanks for saying that. Even if I don’t feel it most of the time.”
“Well, have fun tonight. No rush decisions. Remember, not everyone is what they seem. Trust should be earned.”
“I will be cautious, and I won’t commit to anything tonight. I promise.”
“Okay, baby. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
She sighs heavily, then does a mood about-face. “Is your e-reader charged?”
My lips quirk at both corners. “Yes. Why?”
“Per your text request, I’m sending you books. For research.”
“Like how-to manuals?”
“Fuck no. It’s smut. But none of that old-fashioned shit you like. This is modern smut.”
“And these books will teach me about BDSM?”
Honestly, I was expecting websites and reputable sources, not fiction.
“No. I’ll text you some links after I’ve vetted them first. Those will teach you about kink.”
“Then what are the books for?”
“I’m hoping to scare you away from this terrible idea.”
“I read Fifty Shades, you know. That was my first dirty book.”
“Dirty book. Gah. I hate that fucking term. Like it’s covered in mud because cock, balls, and vaginas are included. Don’t be so judgmental. You sound like your bitchy mama.”
“Fair point. I shall no longer call them dirty books.”
“And read a review once in a while, will ya? Everyone knows that Fifty Shades was not a fact-based look at BDSM.”
“And what you’re sending me will be fact-based?”
“More so than what you’ve already read. But consider my smut a building block. We’re laying the foundation here. There’s a method to my madness.”
With a hint of smugness, I say, “And that’s why I asked you and only you about this.”
“Okay, I have some work to do to get you indoctrinated. Just remember to make James earn your trust. I know you’re thinking he’s your Christian Grey, but he’s more likely to be your Zade Meadows.”
Who the hell is that?
“Should I Google that name?”
“Oh fuck no. You’re nowhere near ready for Daddy Zade. By the end of the week, I’ll have you ready for Emerson Grant, and that’s only if you’re still interested in learning more after your date slash indecent proposal tonight.”
“Thanks, Stella. You’re the best.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just don’t get yourself attached to a Saint Andrew’s Cross tonight or collared. Sending you some books now. I know a few that were written by authors experienced with the lifestyle. Give me a few minutes for links to reputable kink sites. And for the love of God, text me when you get back from your uh... interview.”
Bringing my flattened hand to the side of my forehead, I give her another mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
Note to self: Google Zade Meadows, Emerson Grant, and Saint Andrew’s Cross.
Chapter 11
See me
TOMER
This is a bad idea.
Quite possibly the worst idea I’ve had in my life.
To be fair, I haven’t had many bad ideas since I’m cautious by nature. But a few terrible decisions have been made in my thirty-six years.
This one makes them all pale in comparison.
I see the train coming down the tracks, but I’m too damn stubborn to get out of the way. I’m determined to fight the locomotive with nothing but my willpower.
But it’s a freaking train. Ten thousand tons of steel barreling toward me at fifty miles per hour.
And here I am, willingly driving across town to lie across the tracks.
I talked myself out of seeing her no less than thirteen times today — yes, I counted. And each time, I convinced myself it would be fine. Best idea ever.
Sometimes, wanting something to be true is all the ammunition you need to take a shot. Humans are weak-minded. A fault of our design.
We can convince ourselves of anything given the right motivation. And the way I’m craving more time with Lettie is all the motivation I need to toss all my good sense into the toilet and flush.
I’m nine minutes away from Lettie’s hotel when my phone rings. I take a quick glance at the display on my console, and my throat tightens.
“Hey, Boss. What’s up?”
“You’re unusually chipper tonight. I swung by your office, but you weren’t there.”
“Sorry. I have something to take care of. Is there an emergency?”
“Not an emergency. But an opportunity.”
“Go on.”
“Remember the Amos stalker job?”
“Sadly, yes.”
Millie Fucking Amos and the birth of Chuck Nofunfuck. Grr.
“I had a meeting with the Langley siblings late today.”
“And?”
Come on, Boss. Get to the fucking point. I have a date with your daughter.
“They asked for a consult on a security system for their new foundation.”
“An existing system?”
“No. They’re looking for a custom design. I have some introductory specs from them, but they’ll need to have a sit down with you.”
I’m not spiritual or into signs or fate. Those things aren’t logical.
But right now? I’m starting to wonder if some mystical guardian angel of good sense is intervening to stop me from making this monumental fuck up with Lettie. If I have to go back to work, that’s gotta be a sign.
“Tonight?”
“Nope. They have kids and shit, so they’re done for the day. I’m just giving you a heads-up. I expected you to be in the office, but I’m glad you aren’t. You need some time off. Especially with all the shit going wrong lately.”
I shake my head, giving my eyes a roll. “HQ doesn’t run itself, Boss. You know that.”
“Yeah. That’s why I’m still here.” His exhale crackles the line. “Well, I’ll catch up with you tomorrow. Enjoy your night.”
“You too.”
So maybe it wasn’t some mystical divine intervention as much as it was a reminder to keep my hands, dick, and rope to myself. Because Boss is her fucking father.
By the time I pull into a parking space a few spots down from Lettie’s car, I’ve got my head on straight. Tonight is about helping her get a safe job. I’ll explain the opportunity to her and let her make a decision.
Nothing less. Nothing more.
All business.
If she wants more from me, I’ll tell her I’m only willing to be her friend. Although friendship is new for me, I’d attempt to be that for her if it’s what she needs.
Her tanned legs, exposed below the hem of a flowery sundress, catch my immediate attention when I shift into park. Fuck. She’s standing with her back to the brick side of the hotel building, her attention on her phone. Her hair is down, hanging in long waves that do nothing to conceal the exposed skin of her shoulders.
I say again, fuck.
Not another sundress.
I’m her friend. Mentor. Sponsor at Bask.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
And while I’m giving myself a pep talk, I add the customary reminder not to be creepy.
Lettie must hear the frenzied pounding of my heart because she looks up and smiles, bold and bright.
She probably heard the car, but whatever.
After pressing off the wall, she shoots me a half wave, then tucks her hair behind her ear on one side.
I want to run my fingers through those glossy strands, twist them around my wrist, and give her head a nice tug, exposing the column of her throat to me so I can run my tongue over her flesh and watch her shiver.
So much for having my head on straight. One look at her and I’m fantasizing about all the things I could do to her curvy, heavenly body.
Aphro-fucking-dite, have mercy on me.
Shaking off the fog of bad ideas with three quick blinks, I exit my car and join her on the sidewalk. “Hey, Violet.”
She wrinkles her perfect, slender nose and narrows her sapphire eyes at me. “I thought I asked you to call me Lettie. Did you forget already?”
I cup my mouth, hiding a grin at her sassy tone. “No, I remember.”
Hell, I remember everything about our time together the other day. Not to mention all the moments I’ve watched over her during the last month.
And the way she sounded when she came.
That’s an auditory memory that’ll never leave me.
Neither will the guilt over listening.
But she’ll never know, so no harm, no foul, right?
And once again, I’m attempting to believe my own bullshit rationalization simply because I want it to be true. Pathetic.
Consent is important to me. I won’t let myself forget that again.
“Okay, Lettie,” I start, emphasizing her nickname. “Are you ready to go?” I wave my open palm toward the passenger side of my car.
She lifts one shoulder and lowers her chin. “Promise you’re not going to kidnap me?”
“I promise. But I might tie you up.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Given what I said on the phone to her, she might not realize that was a joke.
Way to not be creepy.
Her laugh lilts melodically. It wasn’t the same laugh she has with her friend, but it’s still a pleasing sound. “Well, you did mention BDSM, so I suppose that’s an appropriate joke.” I open the door for her, but she puts one palm solidly on the doorjamb, stopping her entry into the vehicle. “You were joking, right?”
“Yes. That was a joke.”
Her cheeks redden. “Okay, good.”
My vision catches on her thighs as she slides into the car and tucks her skirt underneath her. I force my eyes away and close her door.
Friend. Mentor. Sponsor.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
The first few moments of our drive are quiet. I don’t mind silence, but it doesn’t feel right for this moment. There’s so much I need to say. But I don’t know where to begin.
This isn’t a topic I’ve discussed with someone outside the lifestyle. My mind begins sorting through potential conversation openers. Ultimately, I decide to wait until we get to our destination before bringing it up.
So that leaves small talk. One of the worst inventions of humankind.
“Am I dressed okay for where we’re going?” she asks, giving me a slight reprieve.
“Yeah. That’s nice.” I force down a tight swallow.
Nice? I can do better than that.
“You look lovely,” I add softly, a pathetic tremble in my voice.
“Thank you. But I wasn’t fishin’.”
I crook my head in her direction. “Huh?”
“I wasn’t fishin’ for a compliment.”
That Southern accent sends blood rushing to my dick, but I act unaffected. “Oh. I see.”
Her gaze burns into the side of my face.
“So where are we going, James?”
Fucking hate that she’s calling me that name, but I guess it’s for the best since it’s my club alias. Perhaps in the back of my mind, when I spit that name out, I already knew what would happen.
That is... if she agrees and doesn’t freak out on me.
“There’s a nice park in Pass-a-Grille. I brought food for a picnic.”
“Pass a what now?”
“Oh that’s right. You’re not from here. Pass-a-Grille. It’s a quiet little beach area. Less tourists than the rest of Clearwater.”
“Fun.” Her shoulders bob a few times. “My first locals’ spot. I feel so special.”
No comment because she has no idea how special she truly is. At least to me and Big Al.
And after listening to her call with Stella this afternoon, I fully believe she has no idea he’s her father. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why she’d lie to her best friend about something like that. It leaves me accepting it as fact. I’ve found no evidence proving otherwise. Based on said call, she recently found out her parents are her grandparents. But other than that? She seems clueless.
Even still, I find myself curious to learn more about what sent her on this path.
“So, Lettie, the other day, we broached this topic. But I still have to wonder why you came to Clearwater out of all the other places on earth. What drove you here? And don’t say your car.”
Instead of looking at her, I keep my eyes trained on the road. But in my periphery, I catch her gentle head tilt, accompanied by her hands fidgeting in her lap.
“My home life has been,” she sighs and shakes her head, “chaotic recently.”
“How so?”
Her head sags, and her eyes cast to the floorboard. “Family drama. You don’t want to hear it.”
“Don’t be so sure. I’m very curious about you.”
I let the statement hang between us.
She tosses her hair over her shoulder while gazing out the window. Without warning, she shifts her frame to angle toward me. “I found out that the people who raised me were essentially pretending to be my parents.” Her voice is shaky when she adds, “My real parents died when I was a newborn, and my grandparents raised me as if I was their own.”
Although I already knew this information, hearing the sadness in her voice grates at the inside of my chest. She’s had it rough recently. And having it rough is sort of my specialty in life.
“Did you run away after your father died — err, grandfather? At the coffee shop, you said something along those lines.”
